


His Blue-Eyed Boy

by loves_books



Category: A-Team - All Media Types, The A-Team (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Face suffers a serious head injury during a routine mission, Hannibal watches his boy's blue eyes as he fights to keep Face with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a stand-alone story, but I was asked by several people what happened next. I wrote a second part as a follow-up, which I have posted here as chapter two, though my original intention was to leave the ending open.

Face has the most incredible eyes Hannibal has ever seen. So expressive, so quick to laugh and dance with joy, and also so quick to cloud in anger. The brightest blue Hannibal knows. Unique, just like the man those eyes belong to. Precious. Hannibal never tires of looking into Face’s eyes – he can hold that hypnotizing gaze for hours as they make love together, fascinated by how the vivid blue swirls and changes as he moves inside his boy.

The most incredible eyes, yes, by far. But now, those bright blue eyes are closed. Face isn’t asleep, but his eyes are closed loosely. Hannibal can’t allow that now, won’t allow that.

“Eyes open, Lieutenant.” He tries to make it an order, but he knows it sounds more like a plea. Though he knows – he hopes – Face will understand and obey, somehow. He has to.

And sure enough, obedient as he ever is, the injured man blinks his eyes back open, clearly trying hard to focus on Hannibal as he hovers close, trying to steady his lover in the back of the bouncing van. BA is driving as fast and as carefully as he can, but every time Face is jostled, a tiny whimper escapes his lips. Each one cuts Hannibal to his heart. 

“Good man,” he tells Face, peeling back the edge of the dressing covering his boy’s left temple. The bleeding has eased, thankfully – head wounds always bleed a lot, they all know that , and the floor of the van is already sticky with Face’s blood. The wound is barely oozing now, though, and Hannibal swallows down his emotions as he presses the gauze back down hard over the deep gash and the dark bruising already spreading. Face whimpers again, a pitiful sound from such a strong man, and Hannibal strokes his lover’s pale cheek very gently with his free hand.

“…J’hn…?” The word is slurred, barely there, but it’s enough.

“Right here, kid. Hang in there for me.” Face’s eyes roll a little in their sockets, and Hannibal slides his hand down to feel the rapid pulse hammering in his boy’s neck. “You’ll be okay; just keep those eyes open for me.”

A moan is his only answer, but those eyes stay open. Face can’t focus, though, and Hannibal can’t tear his gaze away for a second. Face’s incredible eyes are open, but they are wrong, painful to see. That bright blue, those expressive orbs, both wounded and just wrong. His left eye, beneath that gash, is badly bloodshot, the lid puffy and swollen already from the blow to his skull. The pupil is blown wide, black with no hint of blue showing. That’s not good.

Face’s right eye, in contrast, is clear still, the white bright and the blue of his iris so vivid and so deep. Bottomless. The tiniest pinprick of black in the very centre, the pupil contracted as tight as it can be. Face’s beautiful eyes, so expressive, so emotional, so perfect. Now so wrong – Hannibal has enough medical knowledge to understand that this is bad. Beyond bad.

They all know about knocks to the head. It’s a risk of the job, being a soldier, but this… Head injury, bleeding, gaping wide. Pupils uneven and unresponsive. Face can’t move now, though he’s tried. Hasn’t been sick, though he’s certainly concussed. Has to mean swelling and bleeding, internally. Skull fracture, perhaps, putting pressure on Face’s brilliant brain. Every minute that passes could steal more of Face away from Hannibal for ever.

“…happen’d…?” Face breathes, trying again to move his arms, trying to reach for Hannibal, flopping a little instead as his body refuses to cooperate. Hannibal carefully steadies him once again, all the time keeping pressure on that bleeding wound.

“You took a hit,” he tells his lover, leaning close as Face frowns ever so slightly. “Bit of a bump to the head, Temp. That’s why you need to keep your eyes open for me.”

It had happened so quickly, the job nearly over. Information obtained, contact made with a deep-cover agent, on their way out of the danger zone. The van right there. So close. 

So fast. Everything went wrong in a heartbeat – gunshots, an explosion somewhere off to their left, and Hannibal’s team had swung into action. Gunfire returned swiftly, cover provided and exchanged as they made their way quickly to the van. Another explosion, too close. Flying shrapnel, wooden crates shattered. And Face had pushed Hannibal out of the way, somehow seeing, or sensing, the danger. Hannibal still didn’t know what had hit his boy.

Face had gone down with barely a grunt, gun still clutched tightly in his hand. For a split second, Hannibal’s heart had stopped – so much blood. His lover gone, surely. Those eyes never to open again. 

But then, miraculously, Face had pushed up to his feet, head hanging low with blood dripping to the ground, somehow staggering the last few metres to their van. Practically falling into the back, a bloody heap, as Hannibal provided enough cover for BA and Murdock to scramble into the front seats, before following after his XO.

“…try…” Face murmurs now, in answer to Hannibal’s unspoken order. “…diff’c’lt…”

“I know it’s difficult, baby, I know it hurts – ”

But Face frowns again. “Doesn’t hurt, J’hn… tired…” His voice is barely there, weak and slurred, and he does sound tired. Exhausted, in fact. But he can’t sleep, not yet. Hannibal strokes his thumb tenderly over his lover’s stubbly cheek as he risks glancing away from those confused eyes for just a second.

Murdock is hanging over the back of the passenger seat, watching his best friend with terror in his eyes, his face pale and lips drawn tightly together. BA, of course, is focussed on driving as fast as he can towards help, but the rigid set of his strong shoulders and neck tell their own tale. In the rear-view mirror, Hannibal can just glimpse dark eyes staring resolutely at the road ahead.

They know how serious this is, and they can hear every word, but they won’t speak. If Hannibal can’t keep Face with them, nothing they can say would help.

Another tiny whimper from the man lying on the floor, as the van swerves slightly, bouncing over a pothole, and Hannibal quickly focusses back on Face. BA will get them to a medic as soon as he can, and Murdock will keep watch. All Hannibal has to do is keep Face conscious.

“You can’t sleep yet, Lieutenant. Not until I tell you.” Hannibal forces steel into his voice, when all he really wants to do is start begging his boy to stay with him. “Do I have to make it an order?”

Face’s lips twitch in what could have been a smile. His left eye is half-closed now, the swelling taking any semblance of choice away. “…try…” he gasps again, and Hannibal finds he just can’t give the order. He knows Face would obey if he could. But something is telling him Face has few choices here, his body betraying him already.

Still stroking his boy’s cheek, beneath that too-blue eye, Hannibal forces a smile, though he doubts Face can see it. “I know you’re trying,” he tells his lover. “Not long now, sweetheart, then you can sleep. A little longer. Keep your eyes open a little longer.”

“Boss.” It’s Bosco, deep voice too quiet, eyes sad in the mirror. “Another twenty minutes, I reckon.”

Twenty minutes. Does Face have that long? Another gasp, a hitch in already shaky breathing, and those painfully wrong eyes both slip shut as Hannibal watches. “No you don’t,” he hisses, slapping very gently at a pale cheek. “Eyes open, Temp. Come on. Just for me.”

“…can’t…” More of a sob than a gasp, and those eyes stay shut. “…J’hn…?”

“I’m here.” Nothing Hannibal can do but lean closer still, pressing his lips to his lover’s in an attempt to ground him and give him something to focus on. For a second, Face tries to kiss him back, lips clumsy and cold, but then…

But then.

Hannibal knows, even as Murdock shouts out and starts to scramble over the back of his seat to get to Face. He knows, even as he moves his hands automatically to turn his shaking lover onto his side, trying to keep him from hurting himself on the hard metal edges of the van. He knows, even as the seizure rips through Face, stealing his boy’s ability to breathe, forcing his long limbs to move in staticky jerks, arching his neck unnaturally.

He knows this could be it. 

He knows this is about as serious as it gets. He knows they are still too far from help.

And more than anything, he knows he can’t lose Face. Not like this, not today. Not ever. Those eyes have to open again, they just have to.

Even as his hands move to hold Face’s spasming body as steady as they can, even as Murdock’s hands join the effort, Hannibal leans down until his lips are just an inch above his lover’s ear. And he starts to talk. To beg, to plead, pouring every ounce of love he feels for this incredible man into his desperate words. This isn’t the time to be the colonel, not now.

“Fight this, Temp, keep fighting. You’re stronger than this. Don’t let it take you. Stay with me, you have to stay with me. I love you so much, kid, you know you are everything to me. Stay with me, Face, open your eyes.”

He doesn’t order Face, though, not once. He knows his boy will fight to the end of his ability to obey a direct order from him – that wasn’t always the case, not back when Face had been just another angry recruit, bucking under Hannibal’s authority, fighting him every step of the way. But now… Now, Face will always obey Hannibal, though this time his body may not let him. Hannibal won’t order him. He won’t force Face into a position where he has no choice but to disobey – he won’t let that be his lover’s last action.

“Fight it, Temp, hang on for me. Come on, now, don’t leave me. My boy, my love. Please. Stay with me. Open your eyes.”

He keeps talking as the seizure keeps a tight hold of his lover, for what seems like hours but can only have been minutes. 

He keeps talking when Face’ s body finally falls limp, when starved lungs stutter back into life and haul in huge noisy gasps of oxygen. 

He keeps talking as Murdock helps him lay Face flat again, as his own shaking hands press clean gauze back down on that head injury, now bleeding freely once again. 

He keeps talking, words that are there and gone again, words only for Face, for his boy. He keeps talking, praying those incredible eyes will open once again, praying they will focus on him and dance with laughter and love.

But they don’t. Face is too still and too pale, no colour now apart from the dark bruising and the bright red of blood staining his left temple, leaking through his hair and to the floor. If not for the ragged rise and fall of his chest, Hannibal would think his boy had already gone, and those eyes had fallen shut forever.

He keeps talking, even as he is somehow aware of BA getting them past the outer checkpoint at their base, then the inner, the road surfaces smoother now, the van not jostled so much. He keeps talking while he can still speak freely, before the Army medics crash in on them, keeping Face with him a little longer.

“I love you so much, Templeton Peck,” he whispers again and again, the van and Murdock and BA all fading away as he kisses his boy one more time, kisses each closed eyelid, his lips gentle. Begging. “Please, open your eyes. Soon, for me. Please.”

Not even aware they’d stopped, Hannibal is startled when Murdock’s hand lands gently on his shoulder. He blinks up into strangely focussed brown eyes as his pilot stares at him. “Step back, boss,” Murdock murmurs softly. “Medics are here.”

The back doors of the van suddenly slide open forcefully, and Hannibal does sit back, though he doesn’t remove his hands from his boy’s still body. Noisy and loud, so many people and sounds and bright lights after the focus and concentration of the long drive. The medics crowd into the van, forcing Hannibal and Murdock back as they swiftly tend to the unconscious man.

Hannibal just stares at his lover’s face, letting Murdock report to the doctors, willing those eyes to open. The left eye is swollen almost entirely shut now, vivid black bruising spreading down to a defined cheekbone. Face hates having a black eye, Hannibal knows that from experience – other bruises and cuts, his boy plays for all the sympathy he can get when they are alone together, begging Hannibal to kiss them better. But there’s something Face finds too ugly about a black eye, something he always tries to hide, something he hates no matter how much Hannibal reassures him that he is still beautiful. Always beautiful, to Hannibal.

Face isn’t in a position to care about anything now, though. Not his black eye, not the blood in his hair, not the way his shirt is cut from his body as the medics slide him onto a stretcher and hurry him into the emergency room, Hannibal close on their heels.

He watches his lover’s closed eyes as Face’s weakened body suffers a second seizure, only a minute or so in duration this time, barely a chance for the doctors to steady him before he falls limp again. He watches those closed eyes as a third attack wracks his lover soon after, as the bed rattles with the force of it and alarms start blaring warnings, and the doctors’ voices become ever so slightly panicked.

He loses sight of Face for a heart-wrenching minute when the doctors crowd close around him, pressing paddles to his lover’s chest, jolting his tired heart with electricity, forcing it to start beating again. He shifts, standing up on tiptoes, straining to see when the doctors force tubes into his boy’s throat, taking over his breathing, trying to stabilise him.

For a second, the swarm of medics part like the red sea, and Hannibal sees his Face lying there in the middle of it all, hooked up to machines and monitors, pale body pierced with needles and tubes. Eyes closed, of course, and now covered with tiny pieces of white tape. They won’t open now, they can’t.

“Face…” Hannibal breathes, before the world crashes down around them again. The doctors close ranks around the unconscious man, hurrying his stretcher from the emergency room, monitors and machines in tow. Someone is speaking to him, a nurse, telling him Face is being rushed straight into surgery. Odd words slip through his haze, and he nods where necessary, grunts where a response is needed. Plays at being the colonel. Not the lover. Not here.

Suspected brain haemorrhage. Definite swelling. Probable skull fracture, possibly pressing down into the brain. Scans to be done in the surgical suite, x-rays taken, MRIs. Bleeding into the brain. Surgery.

But through it all, all Hannibal can think is how much Face will hate it if he opens his eyes to find they’ve shaved his hair for surgery. And how much he’ll hate that black eye when he sees it in a mirror.

At some point the nurse leaves him alone in the emergency room, and he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall, trying to just breathe. Face will open his eyes again, after surgery, and they will be blue. Both of them will be blue, the brightest blue Hannibal has ever seen. A blue that reminds him of the summer sky, and the deepest ocean, and the most precious of sapphires. And at the same time, a blue far more unique than any of those things, like the man they belong to.

Face will open his eyes again, and he will smile up at Hannibal in recognition and in love. Face will open his eyes again.

Face has to open his eyes again.


	2. Chapter 2

One

The first time those blue eyes open again is six long weeks after they had fallen shut. Six long weeks in which Hannibal has barely left his boy’s side, despite the doctors’ reassurances that everything is going as it should be, that Face is recovering from the surgery well. 

The first time those blue eyes open again they are cloudy and confused, unfocussed and blurry. That’s to be expected, the doctors say – Face is still on a cocktail of very strong drugs, after all, still on a ventilator, still being monitored closely. They shaved his hair for surgery, of course, and Face looks so young and so vulnerable right now, his eyes wide and incredibly blue when they finally blink open for the first time in weeks.

The first time those blue eyes have opened in so long, and there is no hint of recognition or comprehension present when they finally look over at Hannibal, who stands quietly by the head of the bed, keeping out of the way of the doctors. He tries not to panic when he meets his lover’s eyes and sees nothing familiar, no sign of the Templeton Peck he knows and loves. It’s the drugs, of course, it must be the drugs. That’s what the doctors tell him later. 

Because Face manages to squeeze the doctor’s hand when asked, manages to blink once then twice on cue, before his eyes fall closed slowly and he drifts back into a more natural sleep. More natural than the drug-induced coma he’s been kept in since that emergency surgery all those weeks ago, to allow his brain time to heal. Time to let the swelling go down, to let the deep bruising fade. 

The doctors don’t think there will be permanent brain damage. Impossible to tell for sure of course, at least until Face is properly awake and can be assessed thoroughly, but they think they caught the swelling and the internal bleeding in time. They think Face might have problems for a while, might need physical therapy and a lot of rest at the very least, but they can’t see any reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery, given enough time.

Hannibal doesn’t let himself believe that, not quite yet. Not until those blue eyes tell him his boy is still in there. Not until there is something he can recognise, something that tells him Face recognises him in return. He can’t panic, won’t let himself think the worst, but he can’t be that optimistic either. Not yet. All he can do is be there and keep watch, waiting for the next time those blue eyes open.

 

Two

The ventilator is gone, now, as are some of the IV lines and a few of the monitors, though many still remain. Strong doses of medication have been reduced to lower levels, designed to let Face wake up more completely, to let the doctors talk to him and assess him. And Hannibal sits close by his lover’s side, refusing to move, letting the doctors work around him. They are used to his presence, and he is both expected and accepted. 

He is determined that he will be the first thing Face sees when he opens those blue eyes this time.

It doesn’t take long, once the morphine wears off, before Face becomes restless in his ICU bed, long fingers clenching and unclenching in the thin blankets, his shaven head tossing gently on the soft pillows. His hair is already starting to grow back in, Hannibal notices distantly, a fuzz of caramel stubble beneath the bandages covering the left side of his head. 

He waits, patiently, taking Face’s hand into his own when the twitching becomes unbearable. The attending doctor notices but says nothing, resting her own hand on Face’s shoulder to steady him.

Finally, eyelids flutter once, twice, and then suddenly snap open, blinking in the light. Hannibal leans close, a ready smile on his face, and his boy looks straight at him. Really looks at him this time, not like before. Face focusses on him, and Hannibal releases the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

Pain, yes, pain and confusion still present in those blue eyes, but Face is in there. Hannibal lets the doctor do most of the talking, putting his lover through his paces as best she can. Face’s voice is gone, non-existent, most likely due to the tubes he’s had in his throat for more than six weeks, but they will run some more tests just in case. He manages to move his hands and feet when asked, though the movements are awkward and stiff – again, more tests will be run, the doctor tells them both. In the meantime, Face manages to nod and shake his head slowly in answer to her questions, though his eyes barely leave Hannibal’s. Even through the pain and confusion, he can see his Face, his boy.

And finally, Hannibal lets himself hope. Face is coming back to him. Slowly perhaps, but he is coming back. 

 

Three

They are the most expressive eyes Hannibal has ever seen, and they are stormy now, the deep and dark blue that warns that a tempest is coming. Face is frustrated beyond all reason, Hannibal knows, frustrated with his body which refuses to obey him, frustrated by his slow recovery, frustrated by everything in his life right now.

All Hannibal can do is try to sympathise. He has no real idea what agonies his boy is going through right now, though he is there every step of the way. Figuratively, at least, as Face is still learning to walk all over again, his progress painful to watch. Usually so graceful, Face’s movements are shaky and jerky now, his long legs refusing to hold his weight for long. 

Stormy blue eyes snap at Hannibal when he tries to help his lover with the simplest task. Anger and frustration going hand in hand with determination – those blue eyes haven’t laughed in a long time now, not once since they arrived back in the States and Face was transferred to the Army rehabilitation centre.

He is improving daily, though Hannibal knows Face wants things to happen faster than they are. His lover was never a great one for being patient, always keen to get things started, to get moving, to be off and running free. Now, he has to relearn so much, one painful step at a time.

As the doctors hoped, there doesn’t seem to be any permanent brain damage, and Face has retained all his memories and his knowledge despite the trauma from the accident. What he has lost is some of his brain’s ability to send messages to his body – his speech remains slurred and agonisingly slow, though his thoughts are as quick-fire as they ever have been, while his motor control is poor at best – and the rehab centre are helping him to reform the neural pathways that were lost. 

Every day, things are better. Every day, Face manages something by himself that was impossible a week ago, a month ago. Yet those blue eyes remain dark and stormy, frustrated with everything, even more frustrated because Face can’t put his emotions into words very well right now. Not that he was ever good at that.

But every day, things do get better. And Hannibal calms him, soothes him, sympathises where he can, rejoicing in the simple fact that Face is there with him, alive and recovering. He can live with stormy blue eyes, in the hope that the clouds will lift one day and Face will laugh again.

 

Four

Face always waits until the doctors and the therapists leave before he lets the pain show and his eyes grow damp. He waits until he is alone again with Hannibal, safely in his room with the door closed, before he lets the tears start to form, blue eyes suddenly swimming.

Hannibal had hoped they were past this, that Face’s recovery had reached a stage where there would be fewer tears and more smiles. Three months now since Face had woken up, three long months of hard work and slow improvements, three months of dealing with his boy’s frustration and anger at the whole situation, three months of putting everything on hold, and they were doing so well for the most part.

Face was doing so well, his body mostly back under his control, his speech far clearer than it had been at any stage yet, the final lingering headaches fading to a distant memory. He needs more intensive physiotherapy before the doctors will even consider letting him go home, though, needs to build back up the muscles which have faded away during his long recovery and weeks spent lying in bed. Intensive physiotherapy which reduces him to hot tears of pain on a frequent basis as his body continues to fight his mind.

Hannibal has never been able to help himself – when Face cries it breaks his heart, and he just wants to cry right along with his lover. Instead he forces himself to stay strong, knowing that’s what Face needs from him more than anything. He hates not being able to soothe away the pain, hates not being able to make it all better. The doctors don’t want to give Face any more strong painkillers, though honestly Hannibal suspects his boy would refuse them even if they were offered, and so he can do little more than watch. He learns how to gently massage his lover’s shaking limbs after the physios are through for the day, watching the pain slowly fade away from those tear-filled blue eyes as his hands work carefully over pale skin.

More than anything, he learns how to kiss away the tears as his hands move, incredibly grateful that Face has a private room now and they can have these stolen moments alone together. Nothing more than kissing, of course, not with his lover still so weak and in so much pain, but Face always thanks Hannibal in his slow voice, saying he loves him, apologising for being such a nightmare, and Hannibal just kisses him again and again, distracting him before he can start to question why Hannibal has stayed with him. 

Hannibal kisses him until the pain fades completely from those blue eyes, and Face can fall into an exhausted yet healing sleep. Then he always kisses him once more, just because he can. 

 

Five

Home at last. After so long spent waiting by Face’s bedside overseas, then so many months with every waking hour spent in his room at the rehab centre, being home together is like a dream come true. There have been a steady stream of visitors during this first day home, Murdock and BA only leaving a short while earlier, but now it’s just Face and Hannibal. Home together. At last.

Hannibal feels his lover shift slightly, cuddling closer, and he smiles down at his boy. They are curled up on the sofa together, Hannibal sitting partially upright in one corner with Face stretched out on the cushions by his side, wrapped snugly in a soft blanket. His head is resting on Hannibal’s shoulder and his arms are tight around Hannibal’s waist. Hannibal, for his part, is just stroking his fingers slowly through his boy’s regrown curls, over and over again, the repetitive motion soothing them both. 

The long scar from the surgery is lost in all that soft hair, the only visible reminder of the incident now a thin scar above Face’s left eyebrow, running away across his temple and disappearing into his hairline. It will fade more, in time, though for now it is still a vivid pink against skin which is still too pale. 

Face smiles up at Hannibal, a tired smile but a contented one. His eyes are full of nothing but love right now, no pain and no frustration, no confusion or anger. Not quite happiness, not yet, nor laughter, but that will come, Hannibal knows. Love is all they need right now, love has helped Face through this, even if they couldn’t truly acknowledge that in either the hospital or the rehab centre. Thankfully, Hannibal has been listed as his lieutenant’s next of kin for years, since the last priest who knew Face as a boy had passed away, and so he has been able to be there every step of the way. Not that there was anything the doctors could have done to keep him out, not for even a second. 

Love burning in those blue eyes now, so much love, and gratitude. Another month, the doctors think, before Face has his strength back fully. Already he is so much improved, so much like his old self that a stranger might not realise anything was wrong. Only when Face gets tired does his voice start to slow and slur a little, only when he gets really exhausted does his left leg start to drag against the floor, his hands beginning to shake. It will pass, though, and Face believes that now, where Hannibal knows he doubted for a time.

Another two months after that, perhaps, until he can be cleared for active duty, though on this point the doctors are careful to make no promises. Face’s recovery has been textbook so far, and there are no reasons to think it won’t continue that way, but if it doesn’t… Well, they won’t make any promises, and Face understands that, accepts it, though Hannibal secretly has no doubts at all. Face will make it all the way back to active duty, if he wants it, and Hannibal believes that with all his heart. Along with love there is determination and focus in those blue eyes he loves so much – Face can do anything he puts his mind to, anything he sets his sights on. 

 

Six

There was a time when Hannibal might have doubted that they would ever get back to this point, though he should know by now never to underestimate Face. They’ve travelled a long and difficult road to get here, but they’ve come through it together, returning at last to the point they started out from. Now Hannibal can just stand, letting himself watch and wonder at the man who is both his Lieutenant and his lover, his precious blue-eyed boy.

The most incredible blue eyes Hannibal has ever seen, so expressive and so unique. Belonging to one of the most incredible men he has ever known, the man he is still so deeply in love with, the man he still can’t quite believe loves him back. The most incredible blue eyes, eyes he has seen filled with every emotion possible. Cloudy blue eyes filled with confusion and pain, dark blue eyes filled with anger and frustration, bright blue eyes filled with tears and later with love. 

The most incredible blue eyes, now finally laughing and happy once more, out here in the desert with their team, about to head out on another mission. Face is joking with Murdock as the two men check over the supplies one last time, BA hovering close by and throwing in a word or two when he gets a chance. Hannibal just watches, smiling. Face is back where he belongs, back in the Rangers, back on full active duty. Back with Murdock and BA, his two brothers. Back with Hannibal. Things are as they should be, at long last.

As if sensing he is being watched, Face turns, those bright blue eyes locking immediately onto Hannibal’s. Blue eyes which are dancing with life and laughter, so incredibly bright and clear. Blue eyes which turn serious for a moment, and Hannibal knows his lover is thinking about how close they came to not being here at all, together. But it lasts barely a moment before Face ducks his chin slightly, smiling his sweet, genuine smile, his eyes lighting up again as Hannibal just smiles back. 

For a minute they just stare into each other’s eyes, and Hannibal tries to pour every ounce of love he feels for this incredible man into his gaze. And those bright blue eyes shine that love right back at him, before Face blinks and the moment is gone, swept away as they crash headlong into the mission that lies ahead. They have the rest of their lives together, however long that might be, and Hannibal will cherish every moment. But for now, they must put their love aside and be the colonel and the lieutenant once more, as it always is and always should be. The mission and the job must come first, but Face will always be Hannibal’s blue-eyed boy.


End file.
